Jesse moved to his side, trying to get a good view of the feed. At least she was back in the ballroom. There was less chance of something bad happening to her with the entire conference crowd surrounding them.
On the camera feed, Phoebe was talking to a man in a thawb, the traditional Arab robe. It was long and covered every part of the man’s body with the exception of his hands. His head was covered in a keffiyeh. He was standing right in front of Phoebe, but Jesse couldn’t see his face. Phoebe’s was clear on the camera and there wasn’t a hint of distress. She seemed calm and pleasant.
“Can you get audio?” Ten asked.
Hutch nodded and Phoebe’s voice came over the line. “Thank you so much for asking. I am well. There was a moment’s distress, but it’s all been handled.”
“I saw you leave with the American. He was not in his right head.” The voice was dark, rich. It sent a shiver down Jesse’s spine. It made his stomach curl.
“He was drunk.” Erin stood beside Phoebe. “It was embarrassing. We couldn’t find his friends so we got him upstairs.”
“Did you?” That deep voice asked. “Clever girls, but you should be careful here. Next time, ask a man to help you. You shouldn’t be required to see that part of the world. It could also give the rest of the attendees the wrong impression of your character. They might not understand that you were trying to help. They would only see two women alone with a man who is not their husband.”
Jesse forced himself to stay standing. It was right there, the impulse to hide, to make himself as small as possible so no one noticed him. He could hide from that voice. It didn’t have to find him.
“Thank you, Mr. al Fareed.” Phoebe gave the man a polite smile and elbowed Erin, who looked like she wanted to say something.
Don’t say anything. Don’t talk. Don’t argue. Just survive.
The man’s head bent slightly, as though acknowledging her gratitude. “You are with the Loa Mali contingent?”
“Yes, sir.” Phoebe’s accent was crisp, and he liked the fact that it was one more bit of armor she could put between her and the man in front of her. “My friend and I are in public relations and marketing for the king.”
“He’s an interesting man.” Al Fareed bowed slightly. “And he has interesting friends. Be careful. It would be a shame for nice women like yourselves to get caught in a war.”
“A war?”
“Business is always war and war is always a matter of business. Don’t ever forget that. And stay away from the Americans. They drink too much. Men, I’ve found, are nothing but dogs to be trained. That one needs a tighter leash. Good evening.”
He stepped out of the frame, his face never turning to the camera.
“Jesse? Are you all right?” He heard Simon talking, but it sounded far away.
Before he really knew what he was doing, he found himself running. There were shouts behind him, but he paid them no mind. He wasn’t going to listen to that voice in his head. That voice led him nowhere. There was a new voice that shouted for him to take action.
He ran out of the suite and headed for the stairs. They would be so much quicker than the elevators. His team might catch him waiting for the elevators. They wouldn’t understand. The devil had to be caught. The devil wouldn’t be caught with cameras. He could manipulate those. He could only be caught by someone who knew him.
His mind raced as he flew down the stairs. One flight and then two and three and four. He lost track of how many. All that mattered was getting to the ballroom and unmasking the devil, showing him for the true evil he was.
His eyes caught on the door that led to the ballroom and he burst through it.
Sound and lights hit him. He was suddenly surrounded and in a sea of white.
His breath shuddered, but he forced some calm to slip over him. There were a few business suits, but mostly the entire room consisted of men in thawbs and keffiyehs. What color had the headdress been?
Red. It had been red, right?
Did every fucker in the room have to be wearing some damn form of red on his head?
His heart rate ticked up. He was here. The Caliph was here and he was wearing a mask. How the fuck was he supposed to find him when they all were wearing the same masks?
And there it was. That was the same keffiyeh he’d seen in the video feed. Red and black. He’d found him.
Jesse reached for the Caliph’s elbow, pulling him around, ready to stare into the face of his own nightmare.
“Can I help you?” an elderly man asked, his brown eyes softening with concern. “Are you all right?”
Not the Caliph. Not even close. Jesse stepped back. “Sorry.”
His heart sank and he stumbled a bit. He wanted to shout. Thought about it for a half a second. He could shout out and finally be done with this.
“Jesse?”